


the road to perdition

by manufactory



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Alpha Tony Stark, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Criminals, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bad Science, Blood and Injury, Bottom Peter Parker, Boypussy, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, Gun Violence, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Intersex, M/M, Mindfuck, Obsession, Omega Peter Parker, Organized Crime, Peter Parker Whump, Plot With Porn, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Torture, Sexual Violence, Subdrop, Torture, Violence, Whump, crimes against biology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-08 01:49:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20827388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manufactory/pseuds/manufactory
Summary: Crimelord Tony Stark rules his dark kingdom with an iron fist, the Merchant of Death sat atop a throne of bones and blood and gunpowder. But no man is infallible, especially if he possesses something precious - and the crown jewel of Tony’s empire has always been Peter, the angel-eyed boy of his heart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cagestark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cagestark/gifts).

These days, he’s coaxed from his dreams by honeyed breaths on warmed skin, searching touches over silken layers, milk-white movements blurred by the blush of dawn’s light. 

He prolongs the darkness behind his eyelids, even as he feels a svelte weight settle more fully against his morning-slow body, pressing, tempting. Fine hairs tickle his collarbone from beneath the covers, and gentle fingertips trail lower as a questing tongue licks kittenishly across his pectorals. Tony can’t help but huff a breath in reflex at the sensation. 

“How do you always do that?” He whispered, eyes squinting open. The face of a copper-crowned nymph enters his fuzzy vision, its lips already curved in adoration.

“Hmm?” The nymph asks, massaging lazily with hands, hips. “What do you mean?”

Tony flexed his feet and stretched his arms overhead, languishing into awareness. “Wake up before me - I’m losing my edge, Petey-pie.”

It was the smaller man’s turn to huff. “Because you insist on staying up for days at a time,” Peter pouted, the tiniest scrunch of his pixie-features. “You’re going to grey prematurely.”

Tom ran a hand through sleep-mussed hair before rolling so that Peter was under him, caging in the slight, nude body of his little mate with his own more muscular frame. “But you _ like _ my greys.”

His lovely omega scoffed at him, unimpressed. “You need to sleep more,” Peter lowered his voice to a murmur, tangling his dainty fingers with Tony’s own. “Especially after…well, I just want you to rest enough.”

Tony breathed in the sweet-pea scent of Peter’s chestnut curls, smoothing the crease in the boy’s brow with a light kiss. “You worry too much, bambi,” he bent his neck so Peter could nose along his cheek and jawline, scenting him. “I’m made of iron now, remember?”

“Is it nightmares again?” Peter whispered, wishing he could banish away the shame that immediately shaded Tony’s face. “Alpha. _ Tony_. Tell me?”

When the older man hesitates, the omega sighs and tilts his chin upward, lips parted and already wet, asking needlessly for what Tony readily grants him. His words brush against Tony’s mouth, beseeching, “Which one?”

“Fire,” Tony grunts, letting Peter trace his frown. Slender arms wrap over his shoulders, bringing him into an embrace.

“We’re here now, alpha,” his boy reminds him, wrapped in plush vanilla-cotton and sunrise. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Tony groaned as Peter began moving his hips with familiar confidence, undulating his lower body against the older man’s abdominals, drawing his knees enticingly along the length of Tony’s ribs. “Your methods of distraction are, as always, effective.”

“I’m _ comforting _ you,” Peter corrected teasingly, snaking his legs over the tops of Tony’s arms in an arousing show of flexibility. “We’re staying in today?”

Tony hummed an affirmative. “Everyday, if I had my way. I’d never go outside again - wouldn’t need to, ‘cause I got my own sunshine right here -”

“Nooo, Tony, you _ sap _ -” Peter’s embarrassed giggling quickly turned into a gasping mewl, as Tony settled his groin between raised thighs and slotted his erection into that place where Peter was pliable and soft as melted sugar, candy-stained and caramel-sweet.

“Come here, alpha,” said the most beautiful thing in Tony’s world, and the man could do nothing else but grasp love in both palms and plunge deep into its warmth.

This morning, they fall and rise as they like, coming together and apart and together again as leisurely as floating leaves in a placid pond, unhurried and indulgent, drunk on comfort and easy pleasure. 

On days when life slowed into pastel routine, Tony could almost believe in safety, could almost trust a promise that passions didn’t require payment in blood and gold. But Peter was the romantic, and Tony the realist - not long before, a man had died by Tony’s gun. Not long after, another man would meet the same fate. Men would continue to bleed, to burn, to _ perish_, until Tony had destroyed every festering remainder of that _ demon’s _ taint on this earth - 

“Hey,” Peter hushed, holding Tony’s face in his hands until the red began to recede from the alpha’s irises. “Shh, I’m here, I’m with you. I’m here.”

Tony kissed him apologetically, still buried in that yielding body as he waited to harden again. He answered Peter’s unspoken question with a tender bite at the boy’s nape, creamy skin dewed with sweat and flushed from exertion. 

His teeth caught on the raised edges of ragged scars, and the snarl that spilled forth was as dark and enraged as it was that first night, months ago. When Tony had finally found Peter after five long years, stolen away and chained to the whims of a monster. 

“Alpha,” Peter implored, “They’ll heal, please...Don’t be angry.”

He guided Tony’s jaw to his body’s most delicate juncture, where the curved imprint of a vibrant mate-mark had prevailed in spite of inflicted trauma. “I’m yours, alpha, always,” the boy soothed, and Tony swallowed down blackness.

“I know, baby,” he laved at the bond-scar, and Peter sighed at the sensation, his scent blooming afresh with arousal. “I’m not angry, not with you. Never with you. I’m sorry.”

He caught the flicker of insecurity in Peter’s damp, heated eyes before the omega could mask it. “No, don’t think that, baby. They’re not ugly. God, you could never be anything less than perfect, my beautiful, brave boy.”

His sweet omega was bashful even as he turned toward the praise like a flower seeking sunlight. “Alpha,” Peter breathed, burrowing into the pillows with an inviting arch of his spine. “Please, please more?”

And Tony could never deny his gorgeous mate. “Anything you want, love.”

Soon, Tony had Peter writhing in ecstasy again, moaning with abandon. Spread wide atop ivory sheets, speared on pleasure - his beloved looked like some divine sacrifice, captured magic. A radiant little godling, tamed by Tony’s ardor into the very picture of sensual submission - and Peter, darling Peter, thrived on it, flesh and soul yearning to be anything Tony needed, whenever Tony wanted.

That boundless devotion was a priceless treasure, precious beyond what money and menace could buy. Tony had been fool enough, weak enough, to have it taken from him once - he’d be damned if he let it happen again.

Peter’s breaths came faster now, his red mouth artfully agape, keening as Tony fucked him hard. With a helpless cry, Peter squeezed around Tony’s cock like a living vice, spine bowed and shuddering through his peak, as Tony tumbled right after him, plowing deep inside and spilling with a throaty groan, his omega dutifully milking his thickened knot. When they finally untied, Tony peppered Peter’s face with reverent kisses and carried him into the ensuite, where a steaming, peach-foamed tub awaited them.

Eventually, they slip from each other to ease into the day, Tony clad in sweats and loose denim, Peter a constant, nearby presence of silk and supple skin. Staying in saw Tony in his lab, conferencing with his inner circle as he crafted blueprints for his next fleet of iron sentries, while Peter plucked fresh berries from the garden and fed them to his alpha by hand - a soft-eyed beauty perched prettily on a workbench, looking strikingly at home amongst gleaming armor and polished gunmetal. 

In the afternoon, Tony would follow Peter to lounge in the sunroom, appreciating the countryside view through the open French windows, but admiring a better view below him - his omega knelt on sheepskin beside a tray of tea and butter-scones, nuzzling into Tony’s knee as he perused whatever volume he’d selected from the library. By evening, after Peter had labored in the kitchens over a feast of a supper, the melded aromas of cinnamon cakes and honeysuckle buds would lure them back under the covers again, bodies warm and full and desirous.

Tony takes Peter from behind this last time, the boy’s slender back casted in pale moonshadow, his posture mimicking the crescent in the sky. The omega sings with every powerful thrust, spurring Tony to dig his fingers into Peter’s golden skin and press bruises onto soft hips and thighs. When they finally finish together, collapsing in a sated heap, Peter quickly droops with lethargy.

“Make sure you sleep on the plane, Tony,” Peter mumbled into Tony’s chest, tightening his arms around his mate and entwining their legs. “I’m gonna miss you so much. I wish you’d take me with you.”

Tony laid apologetic kisses across his omega’s collarbone, pulling him close. “I’ll miss you too, kitten. But I need you here, safe and sound. It’s too - dangerous, still.”

“I know, alpha,” and Tony feels light pressure at his neck, where Peter is teething over his own bond-mark possessively. “You be safe too, okay? Promise you’ll be careful.”

“Always,” Tony says solemnly, “I’ll have Natasha and Stephen with me, all times. I’ll be back before you know it. And I’ll call as much as I can.”

“Oh, only if it’s not too much trouble,” Peter reminds around an adorable yawn, cuddling into Tony’s comfort. “Love you, Tony. Don’t go until I fall asleep…”

“Love you, too,” the alpha rumbles, petting silken hair and skin until Peter is soothed to slumber in Tony’s hold, cradled right to his heart.

After a while, Tony extracts himself reluctantly to prepare for his trip - a customary yet important meeting with an allied kingpin overseas. It’d been necessary to re-solidify relationships after Thanos had obliterated nearly half of the underground’s networks, and Tony needed the support of as many syndicates as possible in order to flush out the rest of that madman’s leftovers. Hence the constant travelling, even when he’d rather not leave Peter’s side for a second, so soon after he’d gotten his mate back -

Tony grit his teeth. Thanos’ theft of Peter had damaged him more deeply than he was willing to admit. Those closest to him had tried to help in their own ways - Steve was practically a live-in guard dog at this point - but the fear was insidious, the fury still burned. 

His watch buzzed, notifying him of Steve’s arrival. His second knocked lightly as a courtesy - the biometric locks would have scanned and identified him, allowing him seamless entry and exit, but Steve was a gentleman.

“He’s sleeping?” the Captain asked quietly, and Tony nodded, shrugging on a bulletproof sportcoat.

“And Happy is monitoring the house, and Rhodey’s on standby. Should be good to go,” Tony muttered, trying for blase, but Steve was an old friend.

“I know you’re worried, but Peter’s safe here. This time is just gonna be like any of the others,” Steve pressed his lips together, the barest supportive smile. “Rhodey and Happy won’t let anything happen to him. Peter wouldn’t want you to be paranoid.”

“Yeah, well,” Tony raised a brow, “You’re only saying that shit because at least one of us has to pretend not to be strung out. Let’s go - the quicker this is done, the sooner I can be back.”

The blonde alpha dipped his chin in a conceding nod, leading Tony to the car without another word of assurance.

Tony would be gone for a few days at most. Steve was right - Peter was almost impossibly secured in this cloistered safehouse, hidden in forest and cloaked with Tony’s most advanced tech, making it effectively invisible to those without the exact access keys. And Peter might look the fragile, docile omega, all pleasing countenance and impossibly trusting gaze, even after all this time, but his little mate was fierce in his own right, certainly capable of defending himself. And Happy and Rhodey were considerable forces to be dealt with, an extra layer of protection on top of Tony’s robotic fleet.

No, there was certainly no chance of any outsider getting to Tony’s queen in this high castle. Peter will be fine, Tony thought resolutely.

But as the vehicle peeled from the driveway, Tony couldn’t quite extinguish the feeling that something was about to happen, and that he wouldn’t be there to stop it.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter blinked himself awake. He was a light sleeper, so that in itself was not unexpected, but - the omega frowned and turned to lay on his side, facing the drawn curtains and studying the moon-spotted canopies.

Night seemed peaceful beyond the threshold of this safe-haven Tony built for him. Peter listened to the gentle susurrus of leaves in the breeze, the dainty percussion of nocturnal insects, and breathed.

Months ago, when Tony had spirited him away to a cottage in the woods with promises of uninterrupted idyll, Peter had known that indulgence was a poor salve for guilt, a pithy aloe for the sear of regret. 

He worried still for his alpha, for the darkness that edged his disposition and the ferocity with which he now hunted. Thanos’ final blow to Tony was not to take his arm, but to deny him the fulfillment of vengeance. The Mad Titan had sunk to the bottom of the sea and taken Tony’s chances at personal retribution with him. In the aftermath, victory had felt empty - suffering made senseless, rage rendered impotent.

Peter mourned that loss of justice the most, blamed that ruined closure for the twist at the corners of Tony’s mouth, the lingering shadow that dogged the man’s gaze when he thought Peter wasn’t looking. The violent anger that flared through his entire posture when he saw Peter fumbling over equations that were once child’s play, flinching at sudden movements or sounds, slipping in and out of awareness, dazed and daft - when Peter forgot himself and regressed into something soft-limbed and softer-minded, the perfectly suggestible doll he’d been trained into being, _ raped _ into being, for five years -

Truly intolerable, Peter thought, was the shame. He’d endured literal mind-breaking pain, had survived unspeakable horrors, and yet his weakness abided. His prolonged recovery allowed the past to persist and poison their happiness, and so Peter was ashamed.

For each reminder of his captivity, each piece of uncovered evidence as to the extent of his trauma, that sparked a kind of terrible loathing in Tony’s eyes Peter had never seen before. For his own anxiety at witnessing Tony’s fury, his cowardice in being unable to help the man he loved truly heal, because he was afraid to contend with the beast of Tony’s bloodlust.

It was just too similar, too familiarly fanged and furred, to that of the men who'd abused him. The barest threat of violence was enough to frighten Peter into total paralysis these days, and Peter hated himself for it.

But life went on, in purgatory masquerading as paradise. Peter sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to return to sleep, and reached for some notes Tony had left for him.

He’d gotten better at keeping focus lately, though he felt impatient with his pace. Realistically, Peter understood progress would be gradual, that years of continual, drug-induced conditioning took time to undo, but he didn’t think he could bear seeing Tony’s despair at his cognitive lapses anymore. If he was to be weak, then at least let him no longer be stupid.

“JARVIS, could you get a light for me, please? I’d like to do some reading,” Peter mumbled as he slipped from the covers. “And maybe warm the kettle - something hot sounds nice.”

He paused in knotting the silk ties of his robe. The AI’s comforting British tone had not answered. 

“JARVIS?” Peter asked, turning slowly. Outside, the steady drone of an evening forest continued undisturbed, filtered gently through windows left ajar from earlier.

He stilled. Perhaps the sounds were _ too _ steady.

Filled with sudden trepidation, Peter wasted no time in divesting the nightstand of his phone and Walther. Happy was on speed-dial - the call was jammed, straight to voicemail. Rhodey was minutes away, but the alarms were cut, all seven panic triggers disabled along with the entire AI suite. And Tony -

What if Tony was in danger, right this moment? What if Peter was a distraction? Stark technology was supposed to be impenetrable - for this degree of failure to occur, something disastrous must have happened. 

Peter chewed his lip. It was likely he wasn’t the primary target.

He tested a switch, eyeing the open pane. There was little doubt he was being monitored. He tilted his stance to keep the room’s exits in his periphery, thinking.

Tony hadn’t built a veritable fortress for nothing. Even without electricity, the house was part armory; Peter was far from defenseless. And it was impossible for Happy to not notice a breach of this extent - the instant JARVIS went offline, the man would have been getting to Peter. Rhodey will probably arrive on scene soon to whisk him back to his mate, and Steve and Bucky and Clint were probably wreaking havoc against their attackers this moment.

The best thing he could do right now was hide in wait, with his gun pointed at the door.

Decided, Peter hurriedly adorned himself with a full ensemble of piercings - in the event that he moved location, the jewelry would serve as a breadcrumb trail that doubled as assurance of his consciousness. Next, he tipped the contents of a velvet pouch into his mouth and swallowed dry, a single miniscule, metal ball embedded with a geo-tracker sliding coolly down his throat. 

Finally, Peter grasped his pistol at low-ready and darted through the partition to his wardrobe. Its false back gave way to a steep tunnel only large enough for someone of Peter’s narrowness to maneuver through, and he traversed through the walls until he reached the facade of a vault, pressing his palm to its keypad. When the scanner returned an error, he immediately entered override after override, already thinking of how to manually disable the lock -

The vault door wrenched open unexpectedly, and then Tony was _there_ -

“_Alpha_,” Peter gasped and fell forward into Tony’s arms, breathing in the scent of safety and _ mate_. “Tony, what’s happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Shhh, bambi, I’m fine, I’m okay,” the older man clutched Peter close and stroked through his hair. “Thank god, Pete. I’m so sorry, fuck, we need to get out of here -”

“JARVIS is down,” Peter interjected, all his worry suddenly bubbling to the top, “Comms too, they’re - and Happy, is Happy okay, and Rhodey -”

“I don’t know, I’m sorry - this wasn’t supposed to happen,” Tony growled, pulling the smaller boy through the dimly lit room. “We gotta keep moving. Just stay behind me, it’s gonna be okay.”

“Tony,” Peter whimpered, finally taking in the state of his mate, scorched edges and bruised knuckles and bloodied teeth. “Please tell me what’s going on. Where are the others?”

“It’s bad,” the alpha was no longer looking at him, “Everything was a lie. A fucking trap.”

“Who? Tony, did anyone -” Peter choked, eyes filling with tears. “Oh, _ no,_ _please - _”

“I can’t lose you again,” Tony grit out, unwrapping Peter’s fingers from around his weapon and attaching them to his wrist. “Whatever happens, don’t let go.”

The omega firmed his lips and nodded, gripping tight. “Yes, alpha.”

They took a path through a subterranean tunnel system that only those in Tony’s inner circle knew the ways out of. Peter followed blindly, trying not to think about what may have happened to Natasha, or Happy, or Steve, for his mate to be back here so soon, smelling of gunpowder and stormwinds. But he was still trembling, his body’s natural stress responses dialed to a thousand, the beginnings of a Drop clouding his mind.

“Close your eyes, baby, I’ve got you,” Tony urged, and Peter ducked his face and forced his shuddering limbs to continue forward.

But they were stopped in their tracks - and though his eyes were clenched shut, Peter would never fail to recognize that scent. An animal sound of distress tore from his throat involuntarily; his knees buckled.

“Rumlow,” Tony hissed, and Peter shook with fear. 

“Get the fuck away from him, Peter!” Rumlow shouted. 

Peter’s head snapped up in surprise. Brock Rumlow blocked their exit from the opposite end, and his gun was trained onto Tony’s head. The brutish alpha was just as lethal-looking as ever, and the sight of him brought painful memories surging to the forefront -

“Stay with me, Peter,” Tony ordered, and Peter scrambled to obey, except Rumlow made a noise of dismay that was completely out of character.

“Peter, listen to me. That’s not Tony,” his former torturer implored him, and Peter whined in confusion, nostrils filled with the scent of his own mate projecting _ safety-comfort-mine, mine, mine -_ and scent couldn't lie.“You gotta get away from him -”

Rumlow dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the six rounds Tony squeezed off in quick succession, and activated something out of Peter’s view. The sounds of metallic shifting rang through the tunnel, as if there were plates of armor sliding together in a symphony reminiscent of Tony’s own weapons-suits, but Peter couldn’t make sense of the source. Rumlow was wearing nothing beyond tactical body-armor, though there was - something strange about how the man looked -

“Tony,” Peter began in a strangled voice, “I don’t understand.”

“Peter, move!” Rumlow yelled, this time taking a barrage of shots head-on and staying somehow unscathed, though the bullets ricocheted dangerously about the narrow space. Peter tried to shrink away from the gunfire, but was kept in place by Tony’s crushing grip on his nape. 

And finally, Peter realized he had made a grave mistake. When he looked at Tony’s face, something dangerously covetous glinted back at him.

“Fucker,” Rumlow growled, addressing the imposter, “You better let him go -”

“Not a step more, Rhodes,” not-Tony snarled, dragging Peter in front of him. Not-Rumlow stopped abruptly, tension in every line of his stance. 

“Rhodey?” Peter mouthed timidly, trying to scent the air for the familiar northwoods-and-poppy of his mate’s best friend, but only able to smell Rumlow’s fire-stained musk. 

“It’s me, Peter,” Rhodey said, wearing the wrong face and scent. “Look, you sick fuck, just let the kid go. You’re done, okay? There’s only one way this ends.”

But then he froze, wide-eyed. “Whoa, drop it. You’re not going to hurt him, I’m calling your bluff.”

Peter blinked at Rumlow-Rhodey, twisting his neck to look at his captor. Not-Tony had raised no weapons; his hands were occupied with restraining Peter. Both of their pistols had been depleted, and Peter was pressed close enough to the man’s body to feel no other guns. “Rhodey, there’s nothing - _ ack _ -”

“Stop it,” Rhodey looked horrified, his face pale. “You sick piece of shit, stop that -”

“Step away, Rhodes,” not-Tony commanded, his voice calm even as Peter began to struggle furiously against his chokehold, gasping for breath. “Or I’m cutting it off. To match his mate, isn’t that fitting?”

“What do you want? Money? Whatever it is, you can have it, just let him go,” Rhodey said, backing up slowly, guns laid out of reach.

Not-Tony laughed derisively. “Typical of Stark’s men. You'll all believe anything, huh?”

Rhodey lifted his hands, palms facing forward. “Take it easy. Let go of Peter. You can have what you want.”

“If you insist,” not-Tony said, and kicked something across the floor. 

The charge detonated from directly underneath Rhodey, scattering cement and metal and blood, and Peter cried out in horror as Rhodey’s body was sent flying. 

“No! You _ bastard _ -” he tried to sink his teeth into not-Tony’s flesh arm, but felt the pressure of canines at the back of his neck; by reflex, he fell limp, crumbling into a heap at his captor’s feet.

“Oh, Peter. Sweet little omega,” the imposter cooed, caressing Peter’s face with Tony’s hands while deftly injecting something into the boy’s veins. “I’m sorry you had to see that. I should’ve done this from the start.”

Peter knew what was coming next. He’d spent five years as HYDRA’s plaything - he’d been force-Dropped too many times to count. He was already losing feeling in his limbs. “Are you - Rumlow?”

“Me? Oh, sweetie, of course not,” and not-Tony’s visage began to peel away, digitally dissolving until a handsome, bearded alpha took its place, holding Peter’s incapacitated body in his arms. “You can call me Mr. Beck.”

_ Beck_. The name pulled at some memory. An extremely talented engineer, with kind words and friendly eyes, pleasant yet forgettable exchanges from before Peter had become Tony’s - who had a penchant for _ hologram _ _tech_ \- “Quentin,” Peter finally recalled, and the genuine smile that broke across the man’s face was almost horrifically gratified.

“You remember me,” Quentin Beck sighed, gazing at Peter fondly. “You always were such a _ good _ omega, Peter.”

“Quentin, what have you done?” Peter felt tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, even as his vision began to grey out.

“Everything I should have done five years ago. Before _ he _ let you get taken, get hurt like that,” the venom in his tone made Peter whimper in fear. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t cry. I’m never going to let anything happen to you, ever again. I’ll make you happier than that unworthy _ piece of shit _ever could, I’d never let anyone take you from me.”

“Tony,” Peter sobbed plaintively, at a loss for anything else to say. “Please, I just want my alpha.”

Quentin’s features warped with anger, but quickly smoothed out. “I’m your alpha now, Peter. Here,” and Tony’s face suddenly replaced Beck’s, his electric scent masking Beck’s woodsier musk. “Here baby, you can have this for now. Does that make you feel better?”

Peter was fast losing consciousness. There wasn’t much time. “Alpha,” he mewled sadly, feigning loss of awareness. “Please stay, alpha.”

“Oh, baby, of course, always,” Beck lifted him as if he were a new bride, beholding him with a magnanimous expression. Though Tony had often looked at Peter the same way, this hologram’s face, as accurate as it was, turned the expression sinister. “Let’s go home, love.”

Carefully, when Beck carried him around the rubble and past Rhodey’s mangled body - Peter couldn’t tell if the man was still breathing, but he dared to hope - Peter tossed a piece of jewelry onto the unconscious man’s neck, watching it tumble underneath the breastplate of his suit. It was his navel piercing - the navel, for Beck had hungered after what Tony possessed, and now the man would devour his stolen prize.

Peter moaned, feeling subdrop dig its claws into his psyche fully. Quentin hushed him gently.

The rest would be up to Tony, for now. Peter shut his eyes to stem his flow of tears, and let himself go under.


	3. Chapter 3

Things were going too smoothly.

Tony pretended to take another sip of whiskey, swirled the amber liquid in perfunctory performance, and set the crystalline tumbler down with a dull plink. Across the table, the kingpin of Kamar-Taj, a statuesque woman with an all-knowing gaze, raised a brow in good humor.

“Usually my business partners become _ less _ agitated as negotiations draw closed,” she murmured, tilting her chin and fixing Tony with a considering look. “You’re preoccupied.”

Beside him, Stephen mirrored his former mentor’s expression, arms crossed in a stately posture, while Natasha shifted ever-so-slightly at his back. 

There was a reason Tony liked having the pair accompany him - Natasha’s silent lethality coupled with Strange’s regal scrutiny allowed him to array himself more - earnestly, in a sense. Sometimes he needed to come off as the friendliest foe in the room; sometimes he needed to show his hand. And the keeper of Kamar-Taj, the closest thing to a sacred place the underworld had, was certainly someone he wanted to be sincere with.

“Of course I am,” Tony admitted, meeting the Supreme’s stare head-on, “We all are. Odinson’s group must have already come to you. Recovery has been slow-moving for the western syndicates. A lot of trust has been lost; a lot of things are irreparable.”

“You’re not worrying for professional relationships, no?” the female alpha observed. When Natasha bristled, she turned a single palm upward, placating.

“If we’re to move to more personal topics, perhaps it’d be prudent to first sign,” Stephen nodded towards their contracts, “So might our conversation be unfettered.” 

“Sensible as always, Doctor Strange,” the woman said warmly, smoothing her ledgers aside and reaching into billowed sleeves for an intricately-carved seal. 

Per tradition, the Supreme of Kamar-Taj autographed not with name, but blood. The alpha pierced her index finger on the point of a ceremonial blade and smeared the wound over her seal - an artifact centuries-old, bearing the stoic mein of a great horned owl. She stamped her covenant noiselessly and slid the sheaf toward Tony. 

The crimelord blotted his ink and signed with a flourish, uncapping his lion-headed ring to expose a needle-point. He pricked his thumb and completed the blood-pact, and then leaned forward.

“I need to know how much you’re willing to give me,” Tony spoke candidly. “I know the Sanctums are neutral ground. But if there’s anything at all, any information -”

“We’ve agreed to share unblooded knowledge,” the Supreme interrupted calmly, “You assume I have made deals with your enemies.”

“We’re beyond need for coyness,” Strange cut in. “It is your duty to broker indiscriminately, for the benefit of the Sanctum. You cannot tell me you’ve not pacted with HYDRA.”

“As a matter of fact, I have yet not,” her smile was wry. “But you are correct. Should they and theirs seek haven at Kamar-Taj, I could not turn them away. I _ would _ not. They are entitled to become blooded to the Sanctum again, as they have been many times before.”

Tony resisted the urge to clench his jaw. “Thanos still has cells of followers scattered in crevices sheltered by HYDRA. Hell, most of HYDRA’s Heads are former accomplices. I have the right of Vendetta - even the Sanctum must acknowledge that.”

But the Supreme was shaking her head. “I am your ally, Stark. Not your servant, nor your spy,” her tone was firm, yet kind. “I cannot forfeit the legitimacy of my organization even for the sake of someone like you - or someone like your precious omega. Such things must remain immutable, or else chaos cannot thrive.”

“You’ve changed your mind before,” Tony pressed. “You helped me, before.”

“To right an egregious wrong, to see an unforgivable atrocity punished,” and finally, a curl of lip, a hint of canine, that smallest spider-splinter in the alpha’s unflappable veneer. “At the time, inaction would have been akin to suicide. Thanos had to be stopped,” she closed her eyes, “But still, I wonder if it weren’t a mistake after all.”

“To prioritize survival over principle? I thought you were a pragmatist, not an idealist,” Stephen was scowling, but there was a somberness about him, a commiseration. The Supreme smiled self-deprecatingly.

“What I was, my dearest doctor, was weak, and foolish in desperation,” the alpha turned to Tony. “But I do not regret my actions, Stark. Should another evil like Thanos rise again, I would do the same.”

“Thanos is not finished,” Tony said bitterly. “His work, his people - they continue to infect and destroy as long as they’re allowed to live.”

“Thanos is dead,” the woman responded, stern. “And hypocrisy does not suit you, Iron Man. We are all criminals here, lest you forget.”

“Not his victims,” Tony snarled. “Not those innocents. Don’t they deserve justice?”

“But do you truly seek justice for _ them_?” the alpha asked softly. “You’re plagued by a vengeance that will never be satisfied, cursed with an impossible vendetta.”

“I am avenging my _ mate,_” Tony knew his irises were showing red. “As is my _ right_.” 

The woman shook her head. “You’ve only appropriated his right to retribution, Stark. You’d walk a road to perdition.”

“For Peter, I care not of my own damnation,” Tony said darkly, and Stephen drew a sharp breath.

The Supreme seemed saddened, “And what does Peter care of?”

But Tony never got to answer. In the next moment, an ear-splitting crack ripped through the peace, and the room was suddenly plunged into blackness.

Natasha hissed as gunshots rang out, pushing them behind cover. Tony’s glasses immediately tinted, showing a night-vision view, and he saw Stephen crouched beside the Supreme, guns drawn. The Supreme herself was wielding wickedly serrated daggers in both hands, the tell-tale glow of enhanced lenses glinting through the shadows.

“Not your people, I’m guessing?” Tony called blandly, and the alpha bared her teeth.

“Kamar-Taj was under siege the last time you visited as well,” she replied. “I’m beginning to think there’s a pattern.”

“Correlation is not causation, friend,” Tony quipped, ducking another spray of bullets. He gripped his Desert Eagle, scanning the room. “Sights on all sides.”

Stephen tsk’d, his irritation somehow audible over the din of gunfire. “We need to move position - the atrium is too exposed.”

“Comms are down,” Natasha reported, “Can’t get to Steve or the others - proximity jamming.”

“We’ll do this analog, then,” Tony muttered, priming a flare. Natasha nodded and darted left as Tony tossed the spark into the air. In perfect synchrony, Stephen strafed the other way, low to the floor, covering the Supreme as she threw a series of miniature charges towards half of the exits, sealing access points off.

As the flare erupted, in the space of a moment’s reprieve, the group broke for the remaining hallway. “Where are your guards?” Tony asked, and was met with a scene of bodies strewn across the floor, blank-eyed and mouth-foamed.

The female alpha looked uncharacteristically perturbed. “Our own poison,” she whispered, the tendons in her neck flexing. “We’ve been compromised.”

“Fuck,” Tony said with feeling, and Stephen thinned his lips. 

“Kaecilius,” it wasn’t a question. “He’s blooded with HYDRA.”

“Betrayal was inevitable,” the Supreme exhaled. “Come, we’ll head toward the archives.”

Natasha touched Tony’s arm in brief reassurance, and they set off, escaping silently through the temple’s labyrinthine architecture. Stephen and the Supreme exchanged no words, but Tony could tell the former guardian was angered - treason was sin in the underworld, moreso against sanctuary such as Kamar-Taj.

The Supreme abruptly halted and shoved Stephen aside; a nanosecond later, a bullet pierced the stone where he’d stood. Without missing a beat, he returned fire; a thud sounded as the sniper went down.

“HYDRA,” the alpha confirmed, and Tony snarled.

“Natasha, watch my six,” as he left cover to lob an EMP charge down the hall, momentarily disabling any cloaking devices. The others immediately disposed of the revealed agents, the sound of flying blades and whizzing bullets at Tony’s back as he continued forward. 

One of the agents was bleeding sluggishly from a mortal stomach wound. Tony disarmed him and dragged the dying man behind a pillar, holding him upright by the jaw, preventing him from closing his teeth.

“I can save your life,” Tony growled. “Tell me what your orders were. Assassination, kidnapping?”

The man coughed, tongue working to dislodge the cyanide capsule behind his molars. Tony forced his mouth open. “None of that. Why is HYDRA attacking the Sanctum?”

When the agent continued to be unforthcoming, Tony dug his claws into the open wound; the man howled and gurgled blood.

“You’ve got five seconds,” Tony said lightly. “Five, four -”

“P - _ Peter_,” the man wheezed. “Got...him. Help -”

“_What _ did you say,” Tony’s voice was stone. He ripped a compression pack from his jacket and slapped it ungently over the gash. “Keep talking and you live.”

“Your omega -” but that was as far as he got. The agent’s head snapped to the side, pierced clean through by a dagger, its momentum splashing Tony with an arc of blood. Tony whipped around, pistol trained on the interloper -

Obadiah Stane met his eyes over the barrel of the gun. Tony froze, “Well. Aren’t we all just getting betrayed today.”

“Tony,” Stane could’ve at least pretended to be apologetic. “Put your weapon down.”

“HYDRA, really? Was I not paying you enough?” Tony made to kneecap him, but Stane slid a phone across the floor. The distraction was irresistible, especially as the screen flashed with an image of very familiar curls -

He made out Peter’s face. Tony almost forgot himself, almost lunged straight for the phone, but for the sound of a gun cocking.

Natasha had a knife at Stane’s neck, and Stephen had him in his rifle’s sights. The alpha nodded at Tony over Stane’s shoulder. 

“Hands up,” Tony barked. “And fucking explain.”

“I’m unarmed, Stark,” Stane said. Neither Natasha nor Stephen dignified that untruth with a reaction. The man raised his palms regardless, “You should check those messages.”

Tony lowered his gun and picked up the cell. What he saw made his fangs drop almost violently, tore a snarl from his throat so full of black fury that even Stane flinched, cutting himself on Natasha’s blade.

It was Peter, brutalized. Peter, body bared and bleeding, painted plum with bruises. 

The photographs were of torturously high quality, and Tony drank it in like poison - dried tear tracks on swollen cheeks, dried blood streaking pale flesh like a macabre watercolor. Peter’s eyes were dulled from pain, his limbs beaten limp. Laid supine on the floor, naked and bleeding, he realized a sick portrait of a fallen angel.

At the last image, Tony nearly went blind with rage. Peter was posed on his knees, lips stained crimson, gaze lowered in submission. He looked as if he’d been used as a punching bag, the skin on his hips and stomach purpled so deeply it blended in with the dark-carpeted background. His omega knelt, bound and broken, between two trouser-clad legs with tears gathered on his lashes; it was obvious what activity he’d been engaged in moments prior.

Tony gripped the phone so hard its tempered glass creaked. “Where is he.”

“I’ll take you to him,” Stane grit out. Natasha had forced him to his knees, arms cruelly twisted backward; the redhaired beta looked absolutely murderous, having inferred what kinds of images Tony had seen. “You won’t find him without me.”

Tony shot him in the chest. Stane screamed, but Natasha didn’t budge. As expected, the bullet merely lodged into the man’s armored suit. Tony aimed again at his stomach. “How good’s your tailor?”

“Stark, listen to me,” Stane wheezed. “You need me. HYDRA has Peter -”

Tony shot him again, irked when the bullet still failed to pierce through kevlar, ignoring Stane’s agony. “Keep his name out of your mouth, or this next one’s going in there. You don’t have bulletproof dentures, do you?”

Blood showed on his tongue the next time Stane spoke, “Tony. You need me to get to your omega. I can help you.”

“I’m not an idiot, Stane,” the alpha growled. “You wanna help me? Nuke HYDRA and bring Peter to _ me_,” he read between the lines. “Why does HYDRA want me alive?”

Stane shook his head. “I can take you to your omega.”

“I can shoot you in the head, torture everyone here ‘til they tell me where my mate is, and storm the place myself,” Tony retorted. Stephen edged closer.

“Too much time,” the beta said. “They’ll have broken it.”

Tony pulled the trigger. The bullet hit its mark perfectly, right over the previous shot, drilling into flesh. Natasha looked just as bloodthirstedly satisfied as he felt.

“Five years,” Tony whispered, ice. “And they couldn’t break Peter.”

“Not _ him_,” Stane hissed, “Your _ bond._”

“Impossible,” Stephen finally interjected. The alpha doctor frowned at Tony. “Even with the most advanced chemical therapy, bond-breaking takes _ decades _ to accomplish.”

Stane grimaced. “Not anymore. HYDRA’s got the method. They’re _ doing it _ to your omega. There’s a voicemail, Tony, listen to it.”

“Don’t,” Natasha said. “It’s a trap.”

“Of course it’s a trap,” Stane knew he’d won. “But don’t you want to hear your boy?”

“_Fuck_ _you_,” Tony resisted the urge to just blow the man’s brains out. “I’m going to kill you slowly. You’re going to regret ever knowing me, Stane.”

He pressed play. 

There was only heavy breathing at first - panting, Tony realized. Then the sound of something hitting flesh, a quiet whimper, a choked-off gasp of pain. 

“_Speak_,” someone said, and Peter’s songbird voice filtered through, stricken with panic.

“_Don’t come Tony, don’t _ -” another slap, another sob. “_You can’t come, Tony, they can’t get you too _ -”

A worryingly loud impact echoed from the phone’s tiny speaker, and Peter’s cries came in earnest, now. 

“_Ask him_,” the unknown person ordered, but his omega refused.

“_No, Tony, I’m bait, do not come_,” Peter pleaded, his voice wet with both misery and defiance. “_They’re going to try to _ -”

The message ended abruptly. All in the room were still as statues.

Then Tony flung the phone into the wall, shattering it into pieces. “Natasha,” he bit out.

The assassin needed no further prompting. With a sickening crunch, both of Stane’s arms were broken in deliriously quick succession, and Natasha kicked him into the floor, snapping restraints onto his legs. While Stane was writhing in pain, Stephen knelt down and clawed open the man’s armor, stabbing a slim, pronged stake into his stomach.

“When that comes out, your guts are coming with it,” the alpha’s features were tightened with rage, lengthened canines harshing his vowels. “Or you’ll die from the hemlock in an hour.”

“Tell me where Peter is, and poison will be the only thing that kills you,” Tony growled, looking every bit the harbinger of death as his reputation suggested. 

“No, Stark,” and Stane’s expression was triumphant. “You’re coming with me.”

Something activated, a vibrating, high-pitched tone slicing through the room, and suddenly Stane was gone. Tony smelled it first - a heart-breakingly familiar honeyed-berry scent, soured with pain and fear, polluting the air so drastically that Natasha wrenched away in horror, Stephen startling backward, as Peter materialized on the floor, his naked body covered in injuries.

Tony was reaching towards his omega before he could help himself. But Stephen was faster, and _ smarter _ \- “Tony, it’s an _ illusion _ -” as he shoved his friend out of the way -

The detonation blasted them apart from each other, from the hologram of Peter - Tony’s head knocked brutally into stone, his body picked up effortlessly by the force of explosion and dashed with debris. He dimly registered Natasha shouting his name through smoke and _ fire,_ and Stephen’s limp form, soaked with blood, a few feet away. 

He grasped at cement and consciousness, forcing himself to his feet - and felt a prick at his neck.

As his legs crumpled and his limbs numbed, the afterimage of Peter’s suffering still seared across his mind, Tony held onto a single thought.

Of vengeance, of fury. Of blood taken for blood spilled.

  
_ For Peter, _ Tony vowed, and was swallowed by black.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: this chapter is rife with dark + problematic themes, including rape, sexual violence, sexual slavery, & dehumanization
> 
> it's only gonna get darker and weirder and more questionable from here on out folks D:

Softness beneath him, warmth around him, and burning within him. Peter blurred back to awareness in a mess of tremors, wracked with fever and fatigue.

He was cocooned in plush fleece on a bed of furs. The luxurious textures against his over-sensitized skin were a relentless sensory assault, reeking of false safety. 

There was a heavy weight around his neck that his wrists were tied to. Peter inched his fingers around the edges of a thick metal band, testing for a latch or seam, feeling smooth panels and small ports instead - likely some kind of punishment collar. Though it was secured tightly, his airway was mostly unrestricted. 

Since his legs remained unbound, the omega tried to sit up - before wincing in dizziness, breaths coming choppy and choking, vision swimming alarmingly.

Peter gulped past a dry throat and refocused. He moved slower, blinking deliberately in the dark. Like he’d been taught years ago, he took stock. 

He was naked, but still adorned with his jewelry. He felt dull throbbing throughout his body, but no urgent pains. His lower back was strangely sore, his abdomen cramping, his limbs weighted - and he was restless in his skin, itching with an anxiety that usually preceded his - his _ heats_, and -

Peter’s heart thudded. He shifted his legs and hips, disbelieving. But he was wet, practically _ gushing_, his genitalia swollen and hot, his holes aching from emptiness. 

The omega hissed in anger. He’d been drugged into Heat - and though this was far from the first time, the loss of biological agency never quite lost its offense.

A door slid open and dim lights faded on. Peter smelled wine and cologne, both of the dark and expensive sort.

“You’re finally awake,” a man, an alpha by scent - though Peter was doubting the reliability of scent at the moment - said quietly. He was tall and imposing, and despite not being particularly burly, he cut an intimidating silhouette in his bespoke suit and stony expression. There was an uncommon cruelness to the set of his mouth, and his eyes were so cold, Peter shivered in spite of his heat.

Something about the drawl of his speech was placeable. Peter remembered brown hair, brown eyes that always sparked with either mirth or rebelliousness, long-fingered hands that had given him some of the few kind touches he’d received in captivity.

He cleared his throat timidly. “You’re...Harry’s father. Norman Osborne?”

The alpha looked down his nose at Peter. “And you’re the whore my wayward son patronized. Stark’s little slut,” Osborne tilted his head in mock-consideration. “Well, I can certainly see the appeal.”

Peter shrunk into the bed as Osborne approached him, clutching at fleece to hide his bareness, but to no avail. The covers were wrenched away to expose his blushing, leaking body to Osborne’s callous scrutiny. 

Even as Peter burned from humiliation and indignation, his heated biology was reacting to the presence of a virile alpha - nipples painfully peaked, cunt clenching helplessly, legs yearning to spread and wrap around something solid and wide and muscled -

Peter closed his eyes when Osborne bent to brush strands of hair from his face. The man continued to trace Peter’s features, stroking the slant of sharp cheekbones and the curve of pursed lips. The omega trembled from the restraint of not flinching away.

“Harry has taste, I’ll admit,” Osborne muttered, examining Peter like he was a particularly interesting menagerie exhibit. “Your visage is quite compelling, for such common coloring. Though, quality should be expected of a Prime.”

Peter stayed as still as possible, breathing evenly as the alpha tested the softness of his thighs and hips, groped his breasts and tugged his piercings, pet his flank and pinched at the delicateness of his limbs. This was all familiar ground - he’d spent his years as Thanos’ prize earning his keep as a sex slave, after all. He knew how to behave.

And right now, he was in no condition to fight back. Heat coursed violently through his entire being, begging him to capitulate, to submit to the nearest source of dominance. Instead, he needed to leverage docility for information - he needed Osborne to keep talking.

Servility came embarrassingly naturally - Peter had an accommodating nature, and he’d been a very well-trained slave. Reflexively, the omega rearranged his body more appealingly for Osborne’s perusal, receiving an approving hum for his efforts. 

At the slightest nudge to his inner thigh, Peter allowed his legs to splay open, shamelessly exposing his most vulnerable anatomy. The alpha handled him like a cut of premium meat, prodding across Peter’s damp pussy and eagerly parting the glistening folds of his vulva - the centerpiece of a perverse fantasia that was a prime omega’s body.

“Exquisite,” Osborne whispered as he cupped plumped lips and pressed his fingers slowly into Peter’s sensitive channel. His touch was gentle as a lover’s, but Peter knew, from Harry’s stories, of the barbarity those hands were capable of. “You really were created to serve man’s pleasure, omega. Your pretty little holes and this _ cocklet _ -” to which he gave a mean squeeze to - “are quite the novelty.

“I see why Thanos kept you,” the alpha continued. “Though, that madman obviously misused you. And you’re being utterly wasted on Stark, the conceited fool.”

Osborne thumbed at Peter’s clit thoughtfully, watching the boy squirm with reluctant arousal. “But you’ll stay unfulfilled for no longer. With me, you’ll finally become what you’re meant to be, and do the work that nature _ designed _ you for.”

“What’s that?” Peter asked meekly, leery of Osborne’s intentions.

The man smiled, and it was horrifying. “People have forgotten what Primes were made for. What powers they could wield. I would like to remind them.”

He began to finger Peter in earnest. The brunette didn’t try to hold back his gasps of shocked discomfort and unwilling pleasure as he moistened further from Osborne’s ministrations. 

The sound of fingers fucking into wetness echoed obscenely in the small room. Osborne thrust his digits with clinical precision, targeting the smaller man’s internal pleasure-spots at a brutally metronomic pace.

Involuntarily, Peter spread his thighs wider, muscle memory guiding him to pose wanton and subservient. His drop-addled brain was working on autopilot, casting self-respect aside in a bid for favor. One of the first things Peter learned as a slave was how to be pliant enough to survive. Such habits were hard to break.

There was no point in prolonging Osborne’s whimsy - and Peter knew how to work an alpha. He let pathetic mewls spill from slack lips and arched his back as attractively as he could with his bound wrists. Osborne rewarded him by taking Peter’s clit into his mouth, laving harshly at the puffy nub and wrenching lewd keens from the omega.

When Peter came, cunt squirting and convulsing around pistoning fingers, Osborne caught Peter’s juices on his tongue as he fucked the rest of the boy’s orgasm out of him callously. Anticipating what came next, Peter kept himself lax and plunderable as Osborne fed him his own pleasure in a ravaging kiss.

“Good slut,” the alpha praised, extracting his drenched hand from between Peter’s legs and bringing it to the youth’s face. Obediently, Peter cleaned his slick from Osborne’s skin with impersonal kittenlicks, hating how his flavor had become cloyingly saccharine from artificial heat.

Osborne, however, seemed to savor it. “You taste your sweetness? Of course, you couldn’t appreciate it like an alpha can,” he leaned in to scent Peter, no doubt smelling the molten caramel of his fever, the syrupy overripeness of his unwanted lust. “You produce _ nectar_, omega. That divine ambrosia which keeps your bondmate coming back for more - that would keep _ armies _ of men at your heel, addicted to your pleasure.

“Surely you’ve learnt your history,” he gripped Peter by the hair and yanked his head sideways to display his mate-mark, partially covered by the collar. “Of vast, ancient empires built from the ecstasy of a single Prime omega. Of legendary battles fought in their names, entire civilizations erected and eradicated by the inescapable thrall of your hermaphroditic breed.”

He looked at Peter with sharp-toothed greed and hunger. “Imagine your potential as a conquered godslave. How much power you could possess for your master. How much you could unite, or rend apart - men would die for you, kill for you, by the thousands.”

“You’re wrong,” Peter said fiercely, afraid of this man’s near-religious fervor. “Those stories are _ myths_, primes don’t have - we don’t have _ magic _ -”

“You silly whore. How could you be so ignorant of your own capacity?” Osborne sneered. “You are a Prime Omega. Was Stark so impotent of an alpha to have never milked you?”

Peter snarled, eyes bleeding gold. “Don’t you _ dare _ speak of him that way. Tony is a thousand times more an alpha than you could ever _ dream _ of being, you evil bastard. And - and -”

He stuttered to a halt, disgusted at being forced to this topic. Milking was the most intimate act an alpha could perform on his omega, and was even more special for a bonded Prime pair. The thought of divulging any details to someone like Osborne made him shudder with revulsion.

Only could the mate of a prime bring the other to total completion - no one else but Tony could milk Peter to orgasm from his cocklet, and no one else but Peter could make Tony achieve his full knot. But milking took hours of painstakingly careful and concentrated effort, and though the fruit of those labors was immensely rewarding - that coveted honey produced by an omegan prime’s vestigial sac, which Tony had always told a madly blushing Peter was the most delicious thing in the world - the process was difficult enough that the act was still something rare and precious.

And _ private_. Peter thinned his lips, stubbornly silent. Osborne seemed unbothered by his reticence, continuing on patronizingly.

“A prime _ does _ have magic, from this delightful organ here,” and he slapped Peter’s unprotected flesh suddenly, earning a startled bleat of pain. “Those omegas of lore spent their days being milked for their nectar. Kings would feed it like a drug to their soldiers and nobles, would wine their allies on it, would sweeten the wells of their cities with it - would sew a whole society together by the forcibly wrought pleasure of one _ very _ exceptional slave.

“The practice has, regrettably, died out as the number of Primes dwindled,” Osborne showed his teeth. “But you’re quite unique, aren’t you, Peter? You could revive the traditions of old, and see god-emperors walk the earth once again.”

“You’re insane,” Peter glared. “And I can’t give you what you want, anyways. Only Tony can make me - only my _ mate _ could. Even if you put me in a farm, you couldn’t get what you wanted.”

Black market omega farms were as inhumane as their description suggested, niche establishments serving the whims of sadistic fetishists. Most had been shut down before Peter was born, as the nonconsensual milking of omegas was considered grossly taboo by even the underworld. One of the first things Tony had done when he’d amassed enough resources as a kingpin was to burn any remaining facilities to ashes. 

Even Thanos, another prime alpha, had not condoned that kind of torture, nor had he tried to milk Peter himself, though he’d freely exploited the omega in other ways. But the Mad Titan had drawn a line at that worst violation, and Peter was never made into a cow.

“You’ll get nothing from me,” Peter said quietly. “This was all for _ nothing_.”

“On the contrary, I can extract exactly what I want from your body,” Osborne menaced. “With the help of our mutual friend, Mr. Beck.”

“Where is Quentin?” Peter asked, wary. 

“Probably waking up, at the moment,” the man said lightly, checking his watch. “Ah. Perfect timing. Bring him in.”

The doors opened again, and Quentin Beck stood with his arms restrained behind his back, flanked by two masked guards. The alpha looked furious, nostrils flared and eyes ringed with red; his gaze fell immediately upon Peter, taking in his naked, heated state, the wet evidence of sex on his parted thighs, and bared his fangs.

“How dare you,” Beck growled. “He’s _ mine_. Get the fuck away from him.”

“Now now, Mr. Beck,” Osborne said, gesturing courteously to a set of leather loveseats. “Let’s be civil. We have common interests.”

“Osborne,” Beck spat as the guards uncuffed him and exited the room. He strode straight to Peter and shredded the rope around the omega’s wrists with his claws. “What’s the meaning of this?”

Up close, Peter could see bruising around Beck’s left temple, blood at the corner of his mouth - he must have been roughed up, struck unconscious at some point. _ And the enemy of my enemy is my friend. _

“_Alpha_,” Peter fretted, voice pitched to be pleasing. He brought his freed hands to stroke at Beck’s hair, to caress at his face, and the man’s expression practically melted. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

Osborne narrowed his eyes at him. “Clever boy,” he remarked. “But you’ve no real leverage here. I can offer Beck a much better deal.”

“Don’t leave me,” Peter whispered beseechingly. “Please, Quentin. I’m - they gave me -”

“Oh, sweetheart, you smell heavenly,” Beck praised, gathering Peter close. “You must be feeling it bad without me -”

His scenting was blocked by the metal collar. Beck glowered at Osborne. “Take it off.”

“No,” the man smiled. “Come sit, Mr. Beck. We have much to discuss.”

Peter whined, plaintive and urgent. He didn’t have to fake his desperation. Osborne rolled his eyes. “Let the little slut rut against you while we talk, if you can manage his distraction.”

Beck sat on the bed and pulled Peter onto his lap, chest-to-chest, wrapping a blanket around the boy’s shoulders. Peter moaned his gratitude into Beck’s ear, playing the part of a perfectly submissive omega, wrapping his legs around the alpha’s sturdy waist. 

He could feel himself leaking copiously onto Beck’s clothed thigh. By the way the other man’s pupils dilated, Beck could feel it too.

Osborne claimed a chair opposite to them, clasping his hands. “How long will it take for you to break his bond?” he got straight to the point.

Beck bristled. “I have everything I need. My sensography tech makes it ten times more effective - it’ll only take a few years.”

“And you’ll evade Stark for that long?” Osborne tutted. “You’re good, Beck, but not that good. I caught you, after all.”

“Stark is too arrogant,” Beck frowned. “He’s always underestimated my tech. He won’t find me.”

“Allow me to restate this” Osborne leaned back, smug. “You’ve no choice. I’ve already destroyed your supply - an inferior drug, honestly, I’d expected better, Beck - and repossessed your safe house. There’s nothing left for you now.”

Beck’s grip turned crushing. Peter whimpered in distress, but the alpha didn’t seem to notice. “What do you want.”

“HYDRA has plans for that omega whore soaking your trousers,” Osborne said blithely. “I need your technology. You need my resources.”

“I’m not giving him to you,” Beck snarled, and Osborne gave him a pitying look.

“You can keep your boy,” he scoffed. “Have no fear - Peter will become bonded to you. HYDRA has perfected a compound that can dissolve a mate-bond in less than a year. With your olfactory illusion system, we can reduce that time to just months. Your omega will be fully mated to you by winter.”

Peter felt Beck swallow, swayed by that attractive promise. He clutched at the alpha’s shirt, “It’s a trick, Quentin. They’re just going to steal your tech -”

“Like Tony did?” Beck muttered, and Peter immediately regretted his misstep. When the bearded man addressed Osborne, Peter knew he’d lost. “What are you going to do to him?”

“We’ll extract his nectar,” the other alpha said, and Beck blanched. “Along with borrowing your illusion technology, in exchange for breaking his mate-bond with Stark.”

“How are you going to accomplish that?” Beck seemed morbidly curious. “Only his mate can milk him.”

“We just need Stark’s scent, which you’ll provide,” Osborne grinned. “We have some new machinery I think you’ll find quite interesting.

“Other than that, it’s all conditioning and chemical intervention,” he pulled out a small remote. “Would you like a demonstration?”

Peter stiffened as the collar around his neck suddenly whirred to life. Tiny pinpricks of pain erupted along the column of his throat, and he pulled away in alarm, before his eyes rolled backward as a wall of pure _ euphoria _ crashed through him, making his nerves sing with pink sensation.

He moaned unrestrainedly, bucking against Beck’s leg, cunt flooding anew with slick, the honey-cream aroma of his arousal thickening the air. Beck groaned, the alpha’s own erection hardening further in response, straining against fabric towards Peter’s hungry holes.

“Positive reinforcement,” Osborne said lightly, as though he were unaffected by the pheromones - but the front of his slacks was tented obscenely, and burgundy showed in his irises. “Dopamine and Heat-carrying nanobots, injected straight to the spinal cord, every time he’s near you, every time he pleases you. And now, negative reinforcement.”

Someone stepped into the room. In the delirium of chemical pleasure, Peter couldn’t even recognize him, couldn’t register anything past the overwhelming burnt sugar of his own sex. It wasn’t until Brock Rumlow - the _ actual _ Brock Rumlow - put a commanding grip around his nape, did Peter remember to be very, _ very _ afraid.

“This ain’t a challenge,” Rumlow gnarled to Beck, whose claws had extended at the encroaching alpha. Rumlow produced a set of devices - Beck’s own holo-tech. “Turn me into Stark.”

The bearded alpha ignored Peter’s whimpering protests, staring consideringly at Osborne instead. “I see where you’re going with this.”

He laid Peter gently aside and took the holobands from Rumlow. Peter grasped for Beck’s arms - “_Please_, Quentin, don’t” - but another wave of ecstasy sapped the strength from his body, and he fell limp onto the furs.

Rumlow was tracking his form lustfully. Peter quivered in terror. He hadn’t forgotten what this dangerous man had done to him, in five continuous years of torture.

“Here,” Beck snapped two circlets around each of Rumlow’s wrists. “The big one goes around like a necklace. The other two are for your ankles.”

While Rumlow outfitted himself, Beck rubbed Peter’s back soothingly. “Don’t be scared, baby. This is gonna help us be together.”

“Alpha, he’s going to hurt me,” Peter pleaded. “Don’t let him hurt me.”

“Sometimes medicine doesn’t taste so good, sweetheart,” Beck sounded genuinely apologetic. “But it’s for the best, love. Just endure this, and we can be happy.”

Osborne was a shark in the corner. “It’s touching. Really, Peter, you inspire such devotion.”

“He’s truly special,” Beck said, misunderstanding, and Peter cringed away from Osborne’s triumphant smirk.

“Why don’t you take a seat, Mr. Beck,” the scientist offered. “And enjoy the show.”

“Yeah, we’ll give you a show,” Tony’s voice said, twisted with dark desire. When Peter turned around, he saw the looming image of his mate, scent pungent with the promise of pain. “Come to daddy, Peter.”

Peter acted on instinct. He bolted for the door, but there was nowhere to escape to.

Rumlow caught him around the throat in a single-handed chokehold and threw him from the bed; Peter barely prevented his skull from colliding with the floor, landing gracelessly on his forearms, trying to scramble away. But the alpha grabbed his hair and jerked his head backwards, nails clawing painfully into his scalp, and whaled on Peter’s midsection with vicious strikes. The omega couldn’t even draw enough air to cry out, to beg for mercy.

On a final kick, Rumlow sent him crashing into the side of a table. Peter had enough presence of mind to shift his body so that his back, instead of his face, connected with the unyielding wood. He crunched into a fetal position, shielding his head between his arms, but it did fuck-all in the face of Rumlow’s violence. The larger man pummeled Peter’s naked body with ruthless fists, beating his stomach and hips and thighs blue-black.

Peter tried to hold his breath, tried to keep his eyes closed, not wanting to associate this pain with the scent and sight of his alpha, but Osborne, ever observant, noticed. A split-second’s warning was all he got as his collar activated again; this time, fiery agony blazed through him, singeing his skin in places where metal was threaded through. 

“Eyes up, darling,” Osborne scolded, as Peter heaved from electric torment, muscles spasming from the aftershocks. He’d bit through his cheek, and blood dripped from his gasping lips.

“He hurts so pretty, doesn’t he,” Tony - no, _ Rumlow _ \- praised, slapping Peter across the face, painting the wall with a dainty spray of red. “Now for the main event.”

The alpha slammed Peter against the nearest surface and grasped the back of his neck. Peter felt blunt pressure at his entrance and desperately forced himself to relax, but Rumlow shoved into him so brutally that had he not been lubed and loosened by heat, he would have torn immediately.

Peter sobbed brokenly as Rumlow raped him. It hurt as much as it satisfied that aching need to be filled, _ finally _ \- and he loathed his body in that moment, for accepting this imposter, wearing Tony’s face and scent, as an adequate substitute for his mate.

He tried to muffle his wails, but Rumlow kept Peter’s face twisted to the side so he could view the boy’s agonized expression while he fucked into him from behind. Peter could do nothing else but succumb to punishment, becoming a limp and broken thing, as if the sight of his pitiful submission might entice mercy.

Finally, Rumlow pulled out and striped Peter’s bleeding, purpled back with his come, branding him as owned and subjugated. The omega was still shuddering through choking breaths, salty tears leaking uncontrollably down his cheeks. But he hurried to turn himself around, not wanting to test his former torturer’s patience.

Tony gazed at Peter’s suffering dispassionately, eyes cold and unforgiving. Peter couldn’t help it - he whined, heartbroken, a purely omegan noise of despair, his lizard brain blaring with only one thought - _ I’ve failed my mate, he’s punished me, my alpha is hurting me _ -

“Oh, sweetheart,” and then Beck was there, gentling him, pressing kisses into his hairline. “You did so good, you took it so well. I’m so proud of you.”

Peter’s heart thudded. Needle-points sank into his skin again, and his bloodstream bloomed with bliss. _ Alpha is proud of me. I did good. _Beck kissed him tenderly, licking away his pain.

He couldn’t stop crying. Subdrop had him between its jaws, scatterbrained and floating. “No,” Peter moaned, “No...no, nono-”

“He’s not done,” Tony said coolly. His cock was still erect, streaked with come and blood, but he paid it no mind as he strode toward the vacated loveseat. “Peter remembers his training, doesn’t he? Come here, slut.”

The alpha patted his lap. Like a dog, Peter responded, crawling on all fours to rest his battered cheek on Tony’s knee - one beat of supplication, and then he leaned forward to take Tony’s cock in his mouth, cleaning himself from his master’s body. The man combed thick fingers through Peter’s sweaty hair, faux-benevolent.

“Omegas are a very malleable creatures,” Tony murmured, fondly disdainful. Osborne hummed his agreement, pouring three glasses of scotch. “But Peter’s exceptional. Maybe ‘cause he’s a Prime, maybe ‘cause he’s just naturally a dirty little bitch - he’s always responded well to conditioning. A few months of this, and he won’t even be able to stomach the thought of Stark anymore.”

Peter thrashed weakly, rejecting those words, but Rumlow held him still with an imposing palm atop his crown. The motion forced Peter farther onto the man’s shaft, and he suckled laboriously at the appendage that had just torn him apart, staining it with tears.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Beck said warmly, taking a drink. Peter clenched his eyes shut. “I can see your methods are effective.”

Osborne chuckled. “Classical conditioning, and on such a lovely specimen - it’d be a waste not to break him. You put him back together, and he’ll never leave you.” 

Peter whimpered as claws dug into his scalp; his airway began to constrict around the dick plunged inside of it. Technicolor spots bloomed behind his eyelids.

Finally, Rumlow skullfucked Peter unceremoniously before coming deep down his throat, which the omega swallowed submissively. He didn’t dare open his eyes yet, not wanting to see Tony’s face warped by cruelty. 

“Perfect,” Osborne said. “And after hurt, comes comfort.”

“Pet, look at me,” Beck commanded softly, and though Peter offered only blank, glassy eyes, the other man didn’t seem disappointed. When Beck gathered him together and his collar injected another dose of pleasure, Peter allowed himself to swoon, too tired to fight back.

“He’ll be in heat for another few hours,” Osborne informed Beck. “We’ll leave you two to get well-acquainted, momentarily. But first -”

He held a phone to Peter’s face. The omega blinked uncomprehendingly, dumb from exhaustion. Beck cooed at him and patted his cheek.

“Why don’t you say a few words for your Tony, Peter,” Osborne prompted. “Maybe he’ll come and get you, if you tell him you’re in heat.”

Peter’s gaze flickered to Rumlow-as-Tony, and then to Beck. His mind was molasses. Beck seemed endeared by his slowness. “Look at him. He’s like a baby kitten. So cute.”

“Yes, so very cute and stupid,” Osborne sighed. He tapped the phone screen, nails sharp on glass. “Ask Stark to come for you. Tell him you’re in heat. Beg for him.”

_ Tony_, Peter focused. His tongue was heavy. “Why...here?”

Osborne squinted at him. “Honestly, I’m surprised you’re still somewhat aware, after so many shots of Heat. Usually omegas are perfectly suggestible by now.”

“No,” Peter said, feeble but firm. “You’re not...getting Tony.”

He didn’t catch the silent communication exchanged between the two alphas. “It’s okay, Peter. We just have something for him, a gift, and he has to pick it up in-person,” Beck explained patiently. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad.”

“Liar,” Peter mumbled. “I won’t.”

Beck smiled. “God, but you’re adorable. Listen to your alpha, Peter, do as I say.”

And finally, Peter broke character. “You’re _ not _ my alpha,” he grated, the last of his energy spent on this final flare of defiance. “You never will be, Quentin. Osborne is _ using _ you.”

Beck’s face darkened in anger, but Osborne beat him to the punch, literally. Peter’s head whipped to the side, and then his whole body exploded in electric fire again. 

He couldn’t even drudge up the energy to scream. The charge cut off just as he was on the verge of blacking out. Osborne slapped him again. 

“Speak,” he said, bringing the phone to Peter’s panting mouth. But he didn’t comply, earning another hit for his recalcitrance. 

Rumlow was observing him. Peter forced himself to think - this was his chance to get a message to Tony. Why did Osborne - and why did _ HYDRA _ \- want Tony, alive? 

Osborne had basically told Peter that he planned to use the omega’s body to produce a control-drug. Thanos had done something similar, forcing one-sided imprintings from his “special projects,” his biologically modified mercenaries, onto Peter, in order to better rule them. If HYDRA wanted to leverage the resources of a prime omega, what could they possibly want from his mate, a prime alpha?

_ Oh_, Peter realized, stricken with ice. _ Because he’s lying. _

Beck was being played for a fool. Osborne knew that any combination of fucking machines and olfactory replications would still pale in effectiveness compared to the real thing - an organic prime milking his mate naturally, the bull attending to his cow. HYDRA really did want to use them as cattle, as breeding animals. They weren’t going to break Peter’s bond with Tony - they were going to _ reinforce _ it.

“Do not come,” Peter gasped, “They’re going to try to _ farm _ us, Tony, they’re going to force you to stud me, to - to _ breed _ me - you have to stay away, Tony, listen to me -”

“That’s enough,” Osborne snapped, taking the phone away. “There’s nothing more compelling than reverse psychology.”

“Is what he said true?” Beck scrutinized the other alpha. “HYDRA plans to breed my omega?”

“_Yes_,” Peter started, but it turned into a shriek as another round of shocks assailed him. Beck snatched the remote from Osborne and turned the dial down, and Peter, moving in spite of his screaming muscles, clambered onto his lap again.

“Osborne’s lying to you” Peter hissed into Beck’s ear. He needed to plant this seed of doubt _ now_, and he needed to plant it _ deep_. “HYDRA wants to farm Primes from a mated Prime pair. They’re going to tie me to Tony forever.

“Don’t let them, _ please_,” Peter was irresistible sweetness. “Or I can never be with you, _alpha_.”

Rumlow barked a laugh, suddenly. He smirked at Osborne. “You underestimated Stark’s bitch.”

“Yes, he’s smarter than I’d thought his breed capable of,” Osborne murmured. The alpha showed his palms. “It appears that Peter’s quite the devious little minx. He’s telling you whatever he can to make you distrust me. I give you my word, alpha to alpha - I will hold my end of the bargain.”

The man gestured at Peter’s quavering form. “Look - he’s out of his mind from Heat and stress. The poor thing can barely string a thought together. Let’s not force him to contend with such difficult concepts right now. Peter’s in heat - he needs his alpha to take care of him.”

Beck frowned, but didn’t protest further. Peter shivered against him, hoping against hope.

“I don’t trust you,” the alpha growled. “But you’ve got yourself a deal. Three months, and if that bond isn’t broken, I’ll rip your throat out.”

“Of course,” Osborne said magnanimously. “I’ll prepare the contracts to be blooded. But you attend to your dear omega now, Quentin. You’ll find this room well-stocked,”

“Ring, if you need any support,” Rumlow smirked at Beck as he exited. “You should see him take two knots at once.”

Beck didn’t dignify that with a response. Peter pretended not to see the wink Rumlow threw at him. Osborne nodded once more, showing himself out.

Peter took a steadying breath, and turned to face Beck fully. The bearded alpha was studying Peter, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he said. “I’m not mad. I’ve always known you were brilliant - so smart and beautiful, because you’re the perfect omega. Loyal to the end.”

He combed through Peter’s curls with careful fingers. “I’ll just have to prove to you that I’m better than Stark. That I’m a more worthy mate for you. I may not be a Prime, baby, but I love you more than that man ever could.”

“Oh,” Peter breathed, shocked. “Quentin. You - you don’t mean that -”

“No, I do,” and Beck leaned close to steal a kiss. “I’ve always loved you, Peter. I was too much of a coward to do anything about it before - so I let you get stolen away, and then stolen again, watched Stark fail you again and again - but not anymore. Now that I have you, I’ll show you - that _ I’m _ the one for you. I’ll make you so happy, sweetheart, just like you make me so happy.”

He tipped Peter backward, cradling him like a babe. Peter opened his legs to let the alpha in, unwilling to fight a battle he’d already lost. He was so, so tired.

When Beck slid into him, sheathed to the hilt, he sighed in gratification and kissed Peter perfectly, soft and tender and loving. Peter hid his face against the man’s neck, unable to acknowledge the depths of devotion, of obsession, in Beck’s gaze.

Was this his fault, too? Had Peter lead him on, forced him to develop this inimitable fixation? Had Beck been cursed with a one-sided imprinting all this time, driven mad with unrequited desire?

Peter didn’t even realize he was crying again until Beck hushed him, still driving into him slowly, considerately. “You know you’re such a pretty crier, too? Even when you’re sad, you’re lovely. Everything about you - god, Peter.” 

“Quentin,” the omega’s voice hitched, his vision blurred, underwater. “I’m so - I’m so sorry -”

“Shh, it’s gonna be alright,” Beck was _ worshipping _ him, and Peter felt a false idol. “Everything’s gonna be alright.”

And of all the lies that had been spoken, this one was the most unbearable. Even as Beck loved him, fucked and licked and sucked him to his peak again and again, even as he wailed for the alpha to do so, to fill him to the brim with pleasure, to brand him with his seed - Peter felt hollow, deadened. 

He’d failed to protect himself or Tony. Again, he’d been reduced to nothing more than a pretty pawn, to be played with and puppeteered by men more powerful. 

Eventually, Beck gentled Peter through a final orgasm, physical exhaustion dragging them both to rest. The omega curled into the larger man’s frame, seeking warmth and solidity, and Beck nuzzled into Peter’s hair.

“Do you think you could love me too, someday?” the man asked quietly, and Peter’s heart ached.

He couldn’t lie, even if it cost him. “I don’t know, Quentin. But I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving Tony. I’m sorry. You deserve better, I’m so _ sorry_.”

The alpha didn’t answer, and Peter wallowed in self-loathing. He hated his body, that flower between his legs that made men covet and want to possess him. 

But Beck surprised him. “I appreciate your honesty, Peter,” he lowered his voice until it was barely audible, shifting until he was whispering directly into Peter’s ear. “And I know Osborne is lying to me. I would trust you over that snake any day - his word means less than dirt to me. He’s probably got cameras filming us this whole time, the fuckin’ pervert.”

Peter got with the program, tossing his hair to obscure the movements of Beck’s mouth. “You may not like me, but we’re allies in this,” the alpha continued. “None of us are fans of HYDRA. We work together now, and I’ll deal with Stark later. In the end, may the better man win.”

Peter shot him a shrewd look. “You’re trying to make me like you, too.”

“Taste of your own medicine,” Beck said teasingly, and Peter’s lips quirked. “If we accidentally become friends in the process, is that such a bad thing?”

“No,” and Peter smiled genuinely for the first time in what felt like days. He buried his face in the crook of Beck’s neck and breathed deeply. He’d smelled insanity on the man, but there was also a protectiveness and intense affection in his nightwoods scent. Absent of illusions, Peter knew he could still trust his nose.

He quested his fingers downward until he found the other’s hands, interlacing their pinkies together. “Then let’s do this together, Quentin.”

“Alright, baby,” Beck’s eyes were the blue calm before a storm. “Let’s win.”

And he sealed it with a kiss, and Peter didn’t know if he was flying, or falling.


End file.
